Chronicles of a UED Marine
by Sonicdale
Summary: Richard "Bear" Hayes joins the UED Marine Corps and experiences the Brood War first hand.
1. Chapter One: On a Log

Chronicles of a UED Marine  
by Dale B. Olson Copyright 2004 by Dale B. Olson  
Note: Blizzard owns the Starcraft Universe. I only tread upon it with my own characters.

* * *

Chapter One: On a Log  
When you are the anvil, be patient. When you are the hammer, strike."  
-- Arabian Proverb

* * *

Corporal, have you ever been through a VR Debrief?  
No, this was my fourth drop and the others didn't have much combat.  
Well, it goes pretty much like this: You drop this visor over your eyes and then we'll watch the mission as you describe it.  
Like a vid?  
Kinda. You'll watch it mostly from your perspective, but just tell me what you see and why you did what you did.  
Sounds kinda strange.  
Yeah, but you'll understand why we go through it this way. Here's the visor.  
Nifty. I just put this on?  
Yes. Go ahead. I'm starting the recordings.  
Okay. Here goes.

* * *

VR DEBRIEF BEGIN  
Location: BattleCruiser Expedition  
Cpl. Richard "Bear" Hayes  
2nd Platoon, 4th Marines, UED Command  
Planet: 4N19  
0912 Hours  
  
I don't know if this was like it was, but I like telling it like it is.  
  
It was like this.  
  
It was a jungle planet again.  
  
I hate jungle planets the most. Mainly, it's the mud. Cleaning that muck off of suit armor is worse than the dust and sand from a desert planet. We were supposed to recon a "suspected Zerg base near a vespene geyser." The geyser was in a small valley and Command thought we could drop in, mosey on throuh on recon, call in an airstrike and then mosey on back to our pickup point.  
  
It always sounds better in the briefing room.  
  
Our dropship left us in a small clearing that was mostly swamp. As we ran down the ramp, I saw at least two zerglings fading back into the treeline. The rest of the squad thought I was seeing things, but ever since the corporals got the last suit upgrades (including the new sight mods), Sarge didn't doubt it.  
  
He ordered us up right after them, charging all the way. The rest of the squad spread out behind us as the point team hit the treeline. Oh, we found the zerglings. At least a dozen were waiting for us around some massive tree trunks. The first to get it was one of our Bats, Hankins -- he was right next to Sarge flamining away with his thrower. Sarge toasted one ling as Hankins pumped stream after stream into the swarm as it crested over them both.  
  
Only Sarge's Firebat armor stopped them -- but Hankins was ripped apart limb by limb in a flaming fireball.  
  
"Get me outta here!" Sarge screamed. He shot streams of flame all around him, wildly.  
  
Johnson and Phillips ran to him to drag him away, only to be hit with the swarm. They managed to pull him free of the smoking bodies and drag him to a fallen tree trunk.  
  
The rest of our squad were sniping the zerglings as they raced for cover. It wasn't pretty -- ling swarms never are -- and by the time the last ling fell dead a meter from my boots, we had lost Johnson. He was clawed down from behind as a medic and Phillips covered Sarge.  
"Are they gone?" said a shaky voice behind me. I turned and saw Gates, the newbie. He was shaking so bad that his hands shook, even through the suit dampeners.  
  
"Yeah," I said. "They're dead. For now." I reset my gauss generator on my rifle, fusing new rounds. C-14 "Impalers" have an almost infinite number of rounds -- provided you regenerate the gauss collector and keep the ammo loading into the projectile unit.  
"What do you mean?" he said, looking around nervously.  
  
I glanced over at who was left in the squad. They were reloading and scaning the dense  
forest.  
  
"Lings usually are the scouts. We're about 5 minutes away from being hit by a bigger force," I said. "Probably closer to 3," said Sarge, pushing away the medic. There was a hiss of escaping air from his suit as Sarge cycled the excess air from his flame system, recharging his fusion generator. "You guys form your line closer to that tree."  
  
He pointed to a massive tree trunk that ran along the treeline. It looked like it was as tall as a bunker.  
  
Phillips pulled Gates along with him. "Come on Marine," he said. "Let's get on top of that monster." The rest of the squad fell back, finding firing positions along the massive log. The tree was solid as rock and didn't even move with the weight of Marines on it. The sides were ridged, perfect foot- and handholds. I scrambled up the side, helping Gates along. The bark was as hard as rock -- I wondered what made it fall. There were pock marks in the sides of it, kinda like craters, so we all took up positions in them.  
  
I scanned through my HUD readout. Besides Hankins and Johnson, we had lost only one other Marine. That left me, Phillips, Gates and Sanchez as riflemen, Sarge as the only Bat, and our medic, Swift.  
  
Not a lot against a mixed Zerg swarm attack. Sarge quickly arranged the riflemen so our fields of fire overlapped. He sat at the center of the skirmish line along the tree and we waited.  
  
"That didn't last too long," Gates whispered to me over the squad comm. "Do all battles go as quick as that?" "Nope. Some either last so long you have to stim to keep it going," I said. "Or they're over in a short burst -- but then this is only my fourth drop."  
  
Gates was crouched in a crater to the right of mine. He swung his helmeted head back and forth, still shaking and jittery. Even though I knew how he felt, it was starting to get a bit annoying. He was attached to our unit on our last drop -- and that was a milk run. All we did then was watch as SCVs built a base. All the fighting then was somewhere else. We just bunked up and pulled duty watches for 3 days.  
  
His nervous hide was going to get me killed.  
  
"Look," I said. "Calm down. You're gonna make yourself sick if you keep shaking like that." "How do you do it, Bear?" he said, flipping the visor of his helmet up. "Aren't you scared?" I stared at his face -- he wasn't much older than I was. I flipped my visor up, too.  
"Take some deep breaths and remember boot. Nothing can be as crazy as that," I lied.  
  
Newbies get lied to a lot.  
  
Sarge told us over the comm to can it. "The bastards should be here soon," he said. "Lock and load." Gates and I flipped our visors down. I could feel the hum of my C-14 as my gauss collector was generating rounds. I saw Sarge link to the ComSat and request a scan of the area to our front.  
  
The swirling blue lights on the HUD showed our position, in a short skirmish line at the edge of our LZ clearing. Then I saw the red clusters of dots headed toward our position.  
I could hear Sarge swearing and calling for artillery support, pickup, anything. There were about a 50 or 60 Zerg headed toward us and 60 to 5 ain't the best odds to fight over. I also made out some red blobs on the edge of the scan.  
  
"We're right on the edge of their base. Come now!" I heard Sarge yell over the comm.  
  
That's when I saw the swarm.  
  
There are only a few other things I've seen in my life that scare me as bad as a mixed Zerg swarms. I've seen Boot Camp food worse than the muck we scrape off our armor. I once saw a Protoss Arbiter decloak a dozen cruisers over our position.  
  
But this swarm was bad. It had Zerlings, Hydras, Mutalisks and even one of those dammed elephant looking things, an Ultralisk. "Take em out! Now! Stim up!" I heard Sarge yell over the comm.  
  
I pushed the red stimpack toggle on my left arm panel. It was only my third stim ever -- they give you one in boot so you'll know what it feels like, and I stimmed on my first drop -- a recon that took out some Zerg drones.  
  
Stimming is both scary and sweet. Imagine warm water running through your skin from your head to your feet. Then all your muscles stop hurting and feel like a supercharged fusion reactor. You can pull off more aimed bursts per minute while stimmed and not get tired -- although you can't stim too much or you'll collapse. Our line opened up and the lings took it first. They started falling the second we started firing, piling up like cord wood. I could see the blood flying as the Hydras stomped through the dead, preparing to fire.  
  
Swift was running up and down the tree trunk, injecting chems into each of us, bringing us back from stim degeneration. It was like running a mile and then someone handing you more energy. They told us in Boot that you can take 3 stims before you'll die -- unless a medic injects chemical modifiers into your bloodstream through your medical suitport.  
  
The Hydras and Mutas then started opening up. We took out 3 Hydras in quick order -- we just followed Sarge's flame streams. It wasn't pretty. I saw Phillips on my left take a Hydra spine in the helmet and he fell, his rifle clattering next to my feet. Sanchez shuffled over to take his spot, but he took about 4 spines in the back. Swift ran over and ported his suit -- only to watch a Mutalisk projectile tear his torso off Sanchez's legs.  
  
Swift took only a bit of damage -- those Mutie animal projectiles bounce around, biting into everything. He ran over to me and Gates, the only riflemen left. I grabbed Phillips' rifle and started hosing down the Mutalisks above us. They caught wind of my double stream of slugs and homed in on my position. Swift alternated between Gates and me as we stimmed and blasted Mutie after Mutie out of the sky. Sarge kept slinging streams of fire into the rest of the swarm, keeping the last few lings and the Hydras at bay.  
  
But only for a moment.  
  
That was when the Ultralisk took that moment to charge our tree. It hit the trunk with its massive head -- causing Sarge to fall off the front and Swift, Gates and me off the back.  
"Sarge!" Gates screamed over the comm. "Sarge!" Slow, agonizing seconds passed, and then all I saw was a massive fireball of a suit fusion generator degrading and the fuel cell igniting.  
  
Gates had lost his C-14 in the fall and was looking around for it, helpless. I tossed him my extra and checked my HUD.  
  
We were surrounded by a solid mass of red, moving dots, spreading around our position. I called to Gates and Swift. "Get ready for a Trio!" I yelled.  
  
Swift hooked her chem injectors to our suits. It was the last thing a medic did before a Trio. A Trio is two marines and a medic hooked straight to a medic's chem units. The marines then lock down their stimpacks and, well, all hell breaks loose. Command doesn't condone it, but after hearing vets talk about surviving entire swarms in them, I didn't hesitate.  
  
Remember that warm water in the skin and the energy from the stims and chems? Imagine that every 5 seconds. It was like jumping from one bathtub full of ice water to another full of boiling water. And while your arms swing your rifle around, your brain really gets detached. It's kinda like punching autopilot -- your brain shoots while you almost watch.  
  
Gates and I swung our C-14 in looping arcs around us, hitting both the ground, zerg and trees. The Hydras pretty much had us surrounded by then, a solid ring of red around our position on my HUD. Green spines began hitting both the tree trunk at my back and Swift's body.  
  
"I don't know how much more I can take of this!" Swift yelled as I checked her stats on my HUD. She was down to about 32 armor integrity and was bleeding from at least a dozen wounds.  
  
I could hear Gates screaming over the comm. Swift was moaning as spine after spine slammed into her armor.  
  
That's when I saw the cloaked Wraith fighters on my HUD. Those babies opened up with their burst lasers and missles all around. I saw body after body fall in masses -- there must have been an entire wing of 12 in the skies above us.  
  
Swift pulled the link on our Trio and our stimpacks deactivated. I grabbed her and shoved her in between me and the tree trunk.  
  
The HUD only showed one more red dot -- the Ultralisk. It had taken the brunt of Sarge's fireball and was banging its tusks against the tree. "Target that bogey, gentlemen," a Wraith pilot said over the comm. The wing's comm melded with ours. I didn't waste the gift.  
  
"Get us the hell out of here!" I screamed. "We still got 3 of us on the ground!" I didn't want to tangle with an Ultralisk by ourselves.  
  
It was then that I saw the Wraiths make their strafing runs on the Ultra. I was glad I had 5 meters of tree trunk in between it and us -- I saw those laster bursts slicing through the trees like rain. The Ultralisk was screaming in loud, shrieking grunts.  
  
Ever hear the sound of an egg being dropped on the floor? That's what an Ultra sounds like when slammed by lasers. It popped on the other side of that tree like a melon.  
  
The comm crackled. "Do you gentlemen want to join us hitting that base?" I heard the wing commander call. "We could use some eyes on the ground." I glanced at Gates, whose face was ashen. His hands shook, badly. He shook his head, staring at the ground.  
  
"I'll join you commander," I called. "Can you relay to our dropship to pick up the wounded?"  
  
"On it's way," the pilot said. "Meet you at the base."  
  
I turned to Swift. "You guys going to be all right?" I asked. She turned to look at Gates now curled up in the fetal position -- as much as the fetal position you can get in suit armor -- and nodded.  
  
I slung my C-14 (after punching reset on the generator) and checked my suit status. Armor good, most of my health levels in the green. I met Swift's eyes with mine. "Take care of him. It's his first drop," I said.  
  
She nodded again, then slumped down on the ground, exhausted.  
  
I turned and started running towards the Zerg base. I'm not entirely sure why. I know that a mixture of emotions were running through my head: fear that staying put was more dangerous, anger at losing my squadmates and most of all, revenge. I wanted to kill this swarm more than any other ... maybe it was the after effects of the Trio. I still felt pumped up.  
  
My HUD had the last position of the base from the ComSat scan. I linked again to the satellite and requested another scan, but on the opposite side of the base.  
  
I saw the base more clearly now. The Vespene geyser had a Zerg extractor on it with more Zerg running from it to the Lair. The creep it sat on wasn't too spread out, but I saw a couple of sunken colonies. There weren't any air defenses ... thank God, or any Muties. The ComSat scan did show a couple of burrowed units around the Lair. Probably Hydras or lings.  
  
I called to the cloaked squadron above me. "Can you guys take out the sunkens?" The comm crackled. "Roger." Their strafing runs took out the colonies in a splatter of blood and Zerg intestines. A few Hydras popped up to spit spines at the wraiths -- it was then that I saw the Overlord drifting towards me.  
  
Giggling like a maniac, I toggled my stimpack again and opened up on the Overlord. It started to float away as my rounds started to impact, raining blood down onto my suit. I ran along under it, firing burst after burst into its belly, only keeping under it because of the stim. I finally saw it take a couple of Wraith missles and explode in a ball of fire and blood.  
  
That's when I remembered I was standing underneath it. I ran as fast as I could, but a large chunk, of, well, meat fell on me. It pinned my rifle and right arm and right leg under it. It must have been at least a couple tons -- I couldn't move it even still stimmed up.  
  
I glanced at my HUD -- it was still working. I saw the Extractor go up in a poof of blood and guts, as well as the Lair dying a messy death. The Drones that were left were easy pickings for the Wraiths as they popped them like, well, bugs.  
  
I could move my fingers on my right hand -- barely -- but couldn't pull my arm out from under that meat slab. I was glad my suit was still tight -- Zerg die messy and smelly. My stim wore off and the pain began. My HUD started flashing red warning lights as my med stats started to drop. It wasn't pretty and it felt like I had crushed my armor in on my right side. I was starting to panic, squirming around trying to get out from under that hunk of meat. I thought about punching my stimpack, but the pain was getting stronger.  
  
"Hold on man!" I heard behind me. I felt hands pulling at my suitport. I felt the clicks of chems and felt the pain start to subside -- it was Swift. Gates was behind her, aiming a string of slugs into some straggler 'lings next to a nydus canal. The wraiths popped that a second later.  
  
"I'm glad to see you guys," I stammered. "I thought ..." "Yeah, well, we thought you needed some help," Swift grinned at me and started to cut away hunks of the Overlord with a knife.  
  
It took her a minute or so to get me free. My rifle wasn't damaged, but my suit arm was pretty much crushed. "You'll have to see a MedSurgeon for that," Swift said, wrapping some field suit sealer over the arm. The sealer kept the suit airtight for vaccum environments -- it made my HUD register green on the environmental readouts. I clipped my rifle to my left arm. Gates had shifted his rifle fire to the last Zerg building, a tall, pulsing Spire. It was obviously trying to pump out another Mutie. I glanced at Gates, his face still ashen but a different look on his face.  
  
A look of baptized by fire. A veteran's look.  
  
We both fed the Spire some heavy bursts. It fell and burst in a cloud of blood.  
  
"I like it when they pop like that," a voice said over the comm.  
  
"Sarge!" I heard Gates yell. We turned and saw Sarge limping towards us, suit armor in pieces -- gone, his blood-smeared body showing more than the armor. He held a knife in one had and a Hydra fang in the other.  
  
"Is that a fashion statement?" I snickered. Swift ran over to him, probing his cuts and burns.  
"Nope," he said, taking off what was left of his helmet. "More like a new battle uniform. Damn Ultra stepped on my suit and broke my generator off." "What did ... how ..." Gates stammered. Sarge snorted. "I'm a lucky bastard, didn't you know?"  
  
It was then that the dropship sliced through the smoke to land next to us. "You guys need a ride?" the pilot called over the comm.  
  
"'Bout time," I said. I nudged my HUD menu to the Wraith commander's freq. "You flyboys done yet?" I saw the lead Wraith decloak as it overflew our position. "Roger" he said. "Take care and thanks for the assist." Sarge watched as the Wraith streaked away, then recloaked. He turned to me.  
  
"You sure pulled one off here," he said. "I saw you take out the Overlord." I shrugged. "I didn't get much. I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning."  
  
Sarge snickered as we trooped up the dropship ramp. "Some guys are always trying to be funny."

* * *

END VR DEBRIEF

* * *

So, what did you think?  
Nifty. But you didn't tell me I'd feel what I did during the mission. That was ... freaky.  
Yes, it does help the PsyExaminers to read your emotions during the mission if you experience it again fully.  
You should have warned me.  
I'm sorry about that, but it's policy. I have couple of questions.  
Shoot.  
Why did you leave Swift and Gates?  
I wanted to pay the Zergies back for killing my guys.  
You weren't with those Marines very long.  
Yeah, but they were Marines. Semper fi and all that. They deserved better than being Zerg food, so I wanted to get some back for them.  
Allright. Did your suit upgrades work well?  
Mostly. I wish I had Upgrade III though.  
We're working on it. Did you have enough intel on this mission? Was it accurate?  
Ha! Next time you guys send a recon, do it with some wraiths or ghosts. Don't send a mixed squad of Marines and Firebats!  
What do you think we should send?  
Send one of those science vessels -- or like I said, a cloaked Ghost or something. Don't waste good Marines on recon.  
Waste?  
Yeah. Let us team up with some Goliaths or tanks. Mixing units makes a better force, anyways.  
Corporal, I have just one last question. Your unit lost half its men and only made it because of other units -- Damn straight. Mix us up.  
As I was saying, you lost 4 men to mainly ground units. What is your ideal, ground scouting force -- uncloaked, that is.  
Hmm. I'd say 4 riflemen, 2 Goliaths and 2 siege tanks. And a Medic and a SCV to fill in the holes. Not a fast recon, but one that could stand up to a force. If it was a smaller recon patrol, I'd say use only mechanized units -- but then I'm just a Corporal. Not an officer.  
Thank you, Corporal. 


	2. Chapter Two: Beginning All Over Again

_Note: These are my characters, Blizzard's world. Thanks to all for the comments --- I'm hoping that the plot/muse takes me farther this chapter and the next._

**Chapter Two: Beginning All Over Again**

_Train hard, fight easy... and win.   
Train easy, fight hard... and die.   
**- Unknown**_

_

* * *

Lieutenant, do you think this man is worth the project?_

_So far, sir, yes I do._

_Tell me about him._

_Well, sir, he's fairly new to the Corps. Been in only a month, seen four drops and some pretty intense action. He's survived. And he shows enough steel to make me think he's worth recruiting. Sir._

_What do you have to show me?_

_I asked Cpl. Hayes to tell me about his Basic Training. He gave me a VR debrief about it, pretty long and detailed. I've trimmed the brief down to these clips. I think they give a pretty good glimpse of who we have here, sir._

_Alright. Roll it._

* * *

_**VR BRIEF BEGIN, EDITED   
UED INTELLIGENCE   
Location: Earth, Paris Island   
Pvt. Richard Hayes   
2nd Platoon, 4th Marines, UED Command**_

If you've been in the Marines long enough, you'll hear old boots talking about which is worse: boot camp in the summer or boot camp in the winter.

For me, it was January, and I can remember every frozen minute of it.

"Get your sorry butts out of this train immediately!" yelled a raspy, charged voice, waking me from a nap. The train ride from the spaceport wasn't too long, but after a 32 hour transit, I wasn't too awake.

Other recruits and I scrambled from the train.

I saw armored sergeants lining up men in rows along the train. We all got into line, with only a few slaps and shouts. The wind had died down, leaving the last swirls of snow at our feet.

A hulk of a man, towering what must have been over six and a half feet, stepped forward and bellowed for quiet.

"I am your senior drill instructor while you are here at Camp Spearhead," he said. "You all will become Marines on my watch, or you will be sent home to your mommas."

He peered over the group. "Do we understand each other?" he barked.

"Yes drill sergeant!" we all shouted. We had seen the videos. No one says "Sir" to a sergeant. Unless you want to do push-ups for 36 hours straight.

The mountain walked down the row, stopping every once in a while to yell at a recruit. I remember silently begging that he not stop in front of me. But then, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was the tallest in the platoon.

"Well, look at that," I heard drawled out down the line. I kept my eyes forward, staring at a spot about 3 feet in front of me. "I didn't know the Corps let in slabs of meat bigger than me," I heard the sergeant say to no one in particular.

It was then that I knew I was in for it. I've been singled out my entire life because I'm bigger than everyone else. In grade school, I was always taller than my classmates, and by the time I was in Grade 4, I was taller than the teachers.

I blame it on my Grandfather. He was in the Corps back when he was a young pup -- and Dad said he got geneteched to be in the PsiCorps. Whatever happened to him affected Dad and me both. Dad was taller than me -- a bit closer to 7 feet than I -- but I was definitely wider. And had the biceps to prove it.

The drill sergeant stopped right in front of my face. Other than my father, he was the only one in my nineteen years to look me in the eye. And not have to look up to do it.

I glanced at his armor plate. Gleaming, I saw his name stamped in neat letters, AFANO. Samoan, I thought. That explained the size.

"Private, did you swallow another recruit to get that big?" I heard Afano bark. I kept hearing Grandfather's last piece of advise rolling around in the back of my head. "Only respond to direct questions or orders, or you'll regret it."

I waited.

"Private, answer me! How did you get that big?" Afano said.

"Tongan mother, Swedish father drill sergeant!" I said, dreading what would inevitably come next.

Afano eyed my frame. "Let's hope you can keep up with the rest of these palangi chowderheads," he said softly.

I almost took a step back. I didn't know what to say or do. Usually I get some stupid crack about roaming Vikings in the South Pacific or some jazz like that. I wasn't expecting him to get so personal, dropping some Islander slang on me. Afano saw this in my reaction, and acted.

"Drop and give me fifty you pile of crap! Push 'em out!" he barked.

I dropped and began counting my pushups to the snowy ground.

"One, Two, Three..."

I heard Afano and other sergeants moving up and down the line, asking questions, ordering pushups, generally letting us meatheads know who was boss.

"Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen..."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Afano's armored boots stop a few men down the line. I silently prayed he would leave me alone. It's funny now as I think about it. I guess Afano had a death wish for me. Almost all of boot he was on my case. It started that first day and kept on. Maybe because I was the biggest on the platoon, maybe because we had some Islander blood in common. I don't know, but when I hit my fifty, I had determined not to let them break me.

I laugh at how insanely naive I was.

* * *

"Next!"

The supply corporal waved Johnson out of the line in front of me to get measured for his Powered Combat Suit (PCS). It was our fifth week in boot. We had run ourselves to death, all done enough pushups to power a siege tank and ran through the obstacle courses in rain, slush, snow and freezing mud. And in February it wasn't the most fun thing in the world.

Afano had been at my elbow at almost every drill, pushing, yelling, prodding me to "live up to my heritage" and so on. Somehow he found out that my dad and grandfather both were in the Corps.

Whatever. Most Marines either wash out the first couple of weeks or stay in for their tour. The DIs call it getting your "y'all." Something from the academies, I heard. A giving of "your all" and such. I saw it as just "getting it" about being a Marine and becoming an efficient killer. Somewhere around the 0400 wakeups, the endless run/marches, the KP and the exhaustion, I changed. I hit my stride, I guess. I didn't get mad at being ordered around and found some inner well of energy inside to motivate myself. My dad would have been proud. Grandfather too. Most of the DIs catch on to those who get that far and ease up. But only a little.

Johnson stepped up on the suit scanner. Green light washed over his body, scanning his body to perfectly match him to a PCS. We had endured class after sleepy class on PCS maintenance, performance, and so on. The base unit has full life-support, NBC shielding, and in-field chemical delivery systems. There were different mods available, but cost was a factor. Recruits got the Level One suit, with the base armor and HUD mod. I guess it was cheaper putting us in the reg suits, but even so, I was looking forward to getting into one.

While Johnson was helped into his suit, I thought back over the last few weeks, as to what I had become. I was already in shape, I thought, when I got to boot. I played fullback on my high school team and ran track, so I thought I was pretty tough. That's a laugh. Now I could run kilometers carrying a pack without falling down and puking. I was able to carry more in my pack than others, gaining the ONLY words of approval from Afano. But then again, being able to carry three-fourths of your body weight when you are over 300 pounds is something to talk about.

"Next!"

I saw Johnson clomp off with the assistance of some suit techs. I stepped up on the raised platform. Round lenses buzzed as the green light measured me from head to toe. I heard the corporal mumble something as he checked his datapad readout.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"Oh, nothing Marine," he said, grinning. "It's just that we don't have a Level One suit in your size. I'll have to check with Afano before issuing you a Level Two." As he beckoned a supply sergeant over he chuckled. "That's all we have that'll fit your hairy ass," he said.

I grinned back. Level Two!

Level Two suits had better armor. They had suit mods that enhanced vision, ComSat-linked HUDs and faster servos. They were only issued to corporals and above. I tried not to almost jump off the scanner platform, grinning like it was Christmas.

"Careful, Marine. We don't give these out like lollipops," the supply sergeant drawled. "We have to get this approved." He moved to a desk and picked up a comlink. The rest of us just watched him as he spoke into the com. After a few moments of conversation, he ambled back to the dressing area.

"This is your lucky day, Private," he said. "Your DI says it's your birthday and you get a Two. Let's suit you up."

I was almost shaking. The sergeants helped me into the black bodysuit, a glorified long underwear that had attachments for wastes, sweat, and medicals. Next was the armored boots, greaves, cuisses (upper leg plating), back plate, breast plate, shoulder guards and finally the armored armgloves. A suit tech handed me my helmet and I snapped it into place with the visor up. Gravy!

Level One suits weigh around 165 pounds, and with the miniaturized fusion-cell generator and neural servos, it is supposed to feel like around 30 or so. Level Two suits add around 45 or so more pounds — the armor is thicker in spots. With it powered up, it feels like wearing a thick coat that's a few sizes too big. But without the generator powered up, it feels like wearing a dozen coats and you're in water up to your earlobes. This was where my PT started to pay off.

"Get your legs moving, Marine," a tech said. I felt arms helping me move my legs. It got easier after you got moving, but I had heard the stories of DIs powering down recruit armor and making them run laps wearing an entire kit. I was glad I didn't have to go far.

The techs helped me down the hall and into a waiting area where other Marines were downloading data into their suits from datastations along a long table.

"This is your secondary suit intro," the tech at my left said. "Port in and boot your HUD. The comps will take you the rest of the way."

I stopped at a empty datastation and keyed my HUD. My visor flipped down. "Enjoy the rush, Marine," the tech said, walking off. The HUD glowed against the polished inside of my visor.

A pleasant female voice began to speak into my helmet.

"Welcome to the Powered Combat Suit Introductory Vid Course. As you have activated your Heads Up Display, we will begin the download now. Feel free to ask any questions as you learn the data."

Learn the data?

"I though we were going to watch a vid," I asked.

"No, through the neural implants imbedded in your skin you will learn the suit training as a download. Are you ready?" the voice asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I said.

The HUD blinked and I saw a flash of images. I felt lightheaded for a moment, then a wave of dizziness.

"Download complete."

I immediately could recall buckets of information. Neural specs, fusion-cell output levels, NBC shielding charts. I closed my eyes and could almost feel taking apart an entire suit, cleaning it and putting it back together again. All the class time we had spent the weeks before clicked into place. I felt as if I was the suit designer!

"Marine, are you ready for your next download?" the voice chimed in my ears.

"Download away," I said. This was the way to learn!

* * *

We were going to get our weapons.

As we lined up again at the supply depot, it was like lining up for Christmas. We had been running drills in our suits for a week, holding dummy C-14s and getting used to the weight and handling of the Impalers. They are great weapons, lots of firepower and mean.

"I can't wait — this is why I joined!"

"Those babies can take out a whole squad of anything. You watch!"

"Ammo? We don't need no stinkin' ammo!"

The chatter of the guys was at a high pitch. Getting your rifle meant a change in training. We wouldn't concentrate completely on PT. We'd get a chance to do unit and squad training, tactics and drop maneuvers.

"Alright you maggots. Cut the jabber," Afano's voice rose above the line's noise. "When you get your weapon, and I'll speak slowly for you dumb-asses, DO ... NOT ... ACTIVATE ... YOUR ... weapon."

Afano peered at us with his "mess-up-and-you'll-all-pay" look. "Do we understand each other?"

"Yes Drill Sergeant," we chorused.

The line began to move as the supply sergeants began checking and handing out rifles. We had downloaded all the tech specs and service specs in another Vid course, but no neural 'load is the same as the real deal. We had learned that about our suits -- wearing one is a hellavua lot different than reading about it.

"Next!"

I walked up to the supply window. The dumpy supply sergeant in the window glanced at my nameplate, then scanned my HUD signature. "Hayes, Richard B. 845948500. Unit C-Dash-Niner-Zero-Zero-Four." He took the next rifle out of a crate.

He held my rifle as I pressed my thumbprint on to the scanner plate on his desk. The light clicked green.

"Here you go, Marine. Don't lose it," he drawled. I stepped to the next line to get my fuser unit charged. C-14s can put out an endless supply of rounds after the fuser unit on the gauss collector is charged. Then the unit will continue to produce an unlimited supply of ammo feeding into the projectile unit — provided you gave the rifle time to recharge.

The rifle was about 4 feet long, not much larger than old Marine carbines. It weighed just under 14 pounds, but with the suit servos, it felt like holding about a one pound stick. Shiny and clean, the rifle was slightly armored for protection and was mean looking.

We all walked up to Sgt. Afano who walked down the line with a supply tech. The tech would charge the fuser unit as Afano spoke to each of us. As the tech hooked a line into my rifle from a generator, Afano caught my eye.

"As soon as you get green levels on your weapon, link it to your HUD. We're going to the rifle range. And keep your meathooks off the trigger, Private," he said in a low voice. "We'll see if you can fire that thing."

I watched the rifle's readout as the fuser unit quickly charged up. I felt the unit start to hum and saw a red light blink red.

"You're good to go," the tech said.

"Thanks," I said, hefting the rifle to port arms.

For the next 20 minutes we listened to Afano lecture us on firing range safety and etiquette. Most of it was based on two things: Not killing yourself and not killing anyone else. Pretty simple. We then took up positions and waited for the order to fire.

There were black silhouettes about 25 meters downrange. All were human shaped, about 4 feet tall. Afano said they were linked to the computers in the firing shack behind us, and other drill sergeants would be monitoring our progress.

"On your HUD is your targeting reticle," Afano drawled. "This reticle will move as you move your weapon. You can target up to the weapon's maximum range and your HUD will adjust your targeting reticle to make up for the distance."

We all moved our rifles around, watching the green targeting shape move on our HUDs. It seemed pretty easy enough.

"You're probably thinking this is easy, just aim and shoot, right?" Afano said. Our heads turned to look at him.

"Well, we're not going to train you to shoot computer-aided," Afano said. He toggled a switch on his datapad. My HUD immediately blinked a red warning, then my targeting reticle disappeared.

"Hey Sarge, what happened?" a voice called out from down the line.

"Well jarhead, we're going to teach you how to shoot like Marines before you get the fancy gear," Afano said. "Everyone assume the prone fighting position, like we trained last week."

We had been through the main battle stances: standing, prone, kneeling, sitting. We had even practiced firing on our backs, on top of rocks and tree trunks, and bunker positions. The bunker positions were my least favorite, but it felt good to have so much steel plating around me.

I heard Marines dropping down, clanking in their PCS armor. I hit the ground at my firing position, bent my knee for support and propped my rifle on the sandbag in front of me. I looked through the sights on the Impaler — the built-in metal sights were like looking at a fence post in the middle of two circles. Crude, but effective enough.

"Until you green maggots can qualify on the C-14's iron sights, we won't train on the Suit Targeting System," Afano said. "Aim at your target and when you are ready to fire, expend only ONE round. Begin."

I lined up the sights on the middle of my target's chest. I flicked the safety to the single shot position, and then took a breath. I held it, released a bit, and squeezed the trigger.

Crack!

My HUD blinked a green "Hit" and showed that I was center mass, one inch from the chest bulls-eye. Not bad I thought, all that practice must have paid off. I said a silent thanks to Grandfather. All those hours practicing on his farm with an old bolt-action rifle helped.

"Alright men," Afano said over the suit coms. "Expend 30 rounds into your target at single shot. Do not go full auto yet."

I heard some other guys muttering things like "Finally" and "About time" to the right of me. I lined up my sights again, took my breath, and began to fire. My HUD registered each hit and showed me on the readout where my rounds were hitting. My first 15 shots hit the center mass, so I moved on to the head of my target. I hit the next ten rounds mostly in the center of the head, one only grazing the target and counting as a hit.

"Alright Hayes," I heard over my com. It was Afano on a suit-to-suit channel. "Take your next five and group them in the left shoulder," his voice was tense. "And don't miss."

I adjusted my aim and made a pretty good group in the shoulder. All were in a circle.

Thirty shots, Thirty hits. I safetied my rifle and then linked to the range computer. The readouts were coming in on the scores.

I was first. Thirty out of thirty hits. The closest other score was a 28, by Johnson.

"Nice going Marine," Afano said, standing next to me. He clicked his com back to the platoon frequency. "Alright Marines. We're cycling the targets. We're doing auto bursts now, five rounds at a time. And we're moving 'em back 5 more meters."

I glanced down range and took aim. The Impaler was great on single shot, and even better on burst. The muzzle lift was dampened by my suit servos, so most of my rounds went right where I wanted them. After shredding my target, Afano moved the targets back again. And then again. At 130 meters, only Johnson and I were hitting the target with more than eighty percent of our rounds, at all firing stances.

"Hayes and Johnson, front and center!" Afano barked. We ran up to the range shack to see a group of sergeants gathered around a vidscreen.

"Either of you two handled a weapon before?" Afano asked.

We glanced at each other.

"I did, in school," Johnson said. "I was on the school's marksman team. Second in the region."

"I learned from my grandfather, Sarge," I said. "He taught me."

Afano harumped.

"Well, at least we have two good shooters in this bunch. Corporal," he said, motioning over a range tech. "Set these men up on the sniper range. Let's see how they really do."

* * *

The dropship shuddered as it plunged through the atmosphere. The engines had begun a high pitched whine and I saw the readout on my HUD showing our altitude scrolling down rapidly. It was our third training drop, but this time we were packing our full kit ... we were going in squads to practice squad maneuvers with some mech units. We had one of the hulking Goliaths squeezed into 2 drop stations next to us in the dropship. Its pilot was running power checks and charging his weapons, getting ready for planetfall.

Afano had made me the squad leader for A squad. We were to stick to the Goliath and give it support as we assaulted an enemy position. B Squad, in another dropship, was packing a Siege Tank and two Firebat/Medic combos. They were the backup squad as the rest of us Riflemen were to scout the landing area and then find the enemy position.

I keyed my com and checked in with him.

"Squadleader to Goliath. Com check," I intoned.

The com beeped at me. "Acknowledged, Hayes." How did he know my name?

"Seems like you and I are together on this one," I heard a familiar voice say.

"Afano?" I asked, hoping it wasn't true.

"Right here, same as always," Afano said. I could hear him smiling through the com. "Checklist protocol initiating. Get your troops ready."

"Alright you guys. Lock and Load!" I called over the squad freq. I flicked my C-14 to activate my gauss generator. The unit began to hum and I saw green on the readouts. Rounds aplenty.

"Thirty seconds!" I heard the dropship pilot call out over the com. I watched on my HUD the LZ approaching. It was a desert planet, desolate and barren. There were mostly sandy dunes and rocky hills around the LZ. Not the best place, but gave us some cover. I saw a swirling blue light dance over the area -- a Comsat scan -- looking for enemy units. None were in range, so the pilot began the final descent.

I glanced at the squad roster -- we were ready to roll. I keyed a channel to Afano in his Goliath. "We're checked up and good to go, Sarge," I said. "We're standing by."

I heard a beep as Sarge responded. "Goliath online. Hayes, get your boys and depart this bucket."

The ship glided in over the LZ with perfect smoothness. I called for another ComSat for one last sweep before we tromped on down the ramp. It was still clear.

I was squad leader, so I was the first to exit. The ground was pretty firm, mostly sand and rock. My HUD registered the air to be breathable, so I set my suit to rebreather to save energy. The rest of my squad fanned out behind me as we moved to some boulders a few meters away from the hovering dropship. Afano's Goliath clanked around the perimeter with an increasing whine. I could tell that the sand was going to be bad on this drop. It was blowing all around us, eddying like snow against the rocks and boulders. It was in the joints of my suit, making almost every movement a gritty one.

Most of the wind had died down from the drop, but I could hear the Dropship engines begin to ramp up.

"You guys take care," the pilot said. I keyed my com.

"See you on the flip side," I said.

"I copy that," she said. "See you tomorrow."

The Dropship sailed upwards and then boosted its engines for an orbital ascent. In about five seconds, it was gone from view.

"Those things sure beat feet quicker than on landing," Johnson said to me. He was scanning the forward area.

"Yeah. Let's get going," I said.

I reviewed the map area on my HUD. We began moving towards the enemy position. The map said it was about 12 clicks ahead of us. About an hour of stomping through sandy hills and rocks. But Afano had other plans.

"Hayes, your boys ready?" I heard him say.

"Checked up and good to go, Sarge," I said. "How you want to take this?"

I heard Afano laugh. "Standard teams. Two-by-one-by-two. You copy?" he said.

I scanned my HUD again. "We're ready. Rock 'n roll."

We quickly split the six of us into three teams. Roberts and I took the left point and Johnson and Edder took the right. Afano moved into position inbetween us while Pogue and Li took the rear guard. A pretty standard scouting party, taking our firepower to the maximum while giving the squad a full range of scanning.

"Everyone move out and keep an eye out for Bravo Squad," I said over the squad channel. "Let's not plaster our own guys."

We started moving at a pretty good clip. Our suit servos can keep us running as fast as a Goliath, sometimes faster. We followed the terrain, keeping low and covering each other. It was pretty nerve racking, but we covered about 10 clicks in about a half an hour before Edder spotted Bravo. They were under air attack by a Wraith-drone. The exercise was using live fire rounds -- but only on our side. The comp-aided "enemy" were using drones on all their units.

Afano ran forward. "Nav-com locked. I'll get that sucker!" he said.

"Johnson!" I yelled. Take the right flank. Look out for cloaks!"

"Roger," he said.

Bravo was pinned down next to the almost dead tank, huddling against the laser bursts. The rest of the squad followed me as we ran to the other side of the tank. "Target that trash!" I called out over the com. C-14 bursts began to strike at the side of the Wraith as soon as I said so. The guys were pumped. I toggled the safety on my rifle and sent a stream of slugs at the craft. Afano's second set of Hellfire missiles had already slammed into the Wraith's side as my second burst hit it. The craft let go with one last blast of its burst lasers before it exploded in a ball of gas and fire.

"Thanks guys!" I heard Garst, one of the Bats say as he climbed out from behind the tank. "We though we were toast."

"No problem," Afano said, stomping up to the tank. "It's a good bet the enemy knows we're here."

"Yeah, we saw a couple Vultures hightail it over the ridge there," Garst said, pointing to the eastern ridge of rocks. "We must be right next to their base."

"Well, we're out of ComSat range. Let's get this hunk o' junk in to siege mode so we can use it before it 'falls' apart." Afano said. "Get em moving, Hayes."

Being squad leader has its perks, but this wasn't one of them. Putting a tank in siege mode can be tricky. You want to maximize the range of the long-range shells, yet give the tank some defense capability. As squad leader, it was my job to find the best place to put the tank on the edge of the enemy base.

I took Roberts and climbed up the eastern ridge Garst had pointed to. When we got to the top, we were about 900 meters from the enemy base, according to my HUD. I could see the two drone Vultures idling next to a couple of bunkers near the base entrance.

The base was a simple one, just a set of bunkers guarding a barracks, a refinery and a Command Center. The Center was almost right on the edge of a sharp cliff, giving the base a great rear defense. The base itself was sitting in a horseshoe canyon, a great defensive position. I could see a few units moving around, mostly SCVs going between the refinery and the Center. Not much else.

"What do you think?" Johnson asked me as he peered over a boulder.

I pointed to a ledge to our right. "Put the tank there with Afano, split the squad up and hit the base from both sides of the canyon. From above," I said. "We'll hit it at the same time. First target are those Vultures, then we'll hit the bunkers."

Johnson thought for a second, then nodded. As much as you can nod in a suit. "You're the boss. Sounds good to me."

The next few minutes were all of us racing around the canyon, getting into place. I waited until I saw Afano stomp his Goliath out into the open and toggled my com.

"Alright you guys. Attack!"

I took aim at the Command Center from my position and let fly with bursts of deadly slugs. We were at almost maximum range for our C-14s, but the rounds were taking effect. The Marines with me were pounding the Center, Johnson's team were hitting the barracks, and I saw Arclite rounds slam into the first Vulture. A large cloud of black smoke rose from what was a hovering Vulture as the other raced towards the tank. More and more rounds began to fall, damaging the racing Vulture as it homed in on Afano. His twin cannons opened up on the cycle as it got closer, then it exploded in a burst of metal and flames.

"Take out those bunkers, stat!" I called. The barracks was in flames now, and I could see a couple of SCVs race over to repair the damage. That wouldn't do! But before I could say anything, I saw the Bats and Medics run in to intercept them. Their overlapping streams of napalm put the SCVs out of action as the bunkers both imploded in a swirl of sand and smoke.

I saw Johnson's team finish off the barracks as the Bats made their way to the Refinery. My team kept up a stream of slugs into the Center as it steadily continuted to burn. I glanced back at the siege tank and Afano's Goliath -- they were making their way up to the base to help mop up.

"Not bad for a newbie," I heard Afano say over the comm. "Not bad."

The Command Center finally exploded when the tank dropped a couple of Arclite rounds on top of it, sending shards of metal high into the air. When the smoke cleared, I saw our dropships meandering down to us on the HUD. I marked a LZ for them to pick us up near Afano.

It seemed too easy. Although learning about combat in a simulation doesn't prepare you for the real thing. We were almost done with boot...

* * *

"Command has something for you newbies to take care of," Afano said.

He was giving us our last talk right after graduation. We had all been assigned to the 4th Marines, almost all of us Riflemen. I guess the Corps needs Marines, or they go through them fast.

"We've been following the ATLAS colonies and their accomplishments. They've been fighting each other and some race called the Zerg for a while now. Command has put together an Expeditionary Fleet and you've been tapped as part of the ground force," he said.

I heard murmurs and whispers in the ranks as the platoon digested this. We were headed off world, and into combat, no less!

Afano motioned for silence. "Line up at 2100 tonight for your final briefing and assignment. Good luck and do the Corps proud," he said. I watched him as he read through his datapad. He looked upset about something. I ducked out of the lines and walked over to him.

"Sarge. Something wrong?" I said.

He glanced up at me from the pad and then back down again. "Nothing, Private," he said.

"Come on Sarge. What's up?" I pressed. He looked back up from his pad and thrust it at me.

"Look at this, Hayes," he said. "Forty men in your platoon. I've seen both the bad and the good here at this camp, I've trained a lot of Marines. But this is the first time I've sent raw recruits into battle against someone else besides other humans."

Afano gazed off at the moving line of Marines. "I've seen too many good men die," he said. "I wonder if Command still thinks of the old-fashioned Marine as a usable resource."

I stared. I mean, this was the first time I'd seen Afano open up to anyone my entire boot experience. I didn't know what to say, and Afano saw I was uncomfortable.

"Stay hard, Hayes," he said. "Never take anything for granted. Do your Grandfather proud."

He walked off towards a supply depot, not looking back. Now I think I should have thanked him, said goodbye, anything. I thought second chances don't come very often.

At least I used to think that.


End file.
